Everything
by Cheshire Kit
Summary: And in this crazy life, and in these crazy times, it’s you, it’s you, you make me sing. You’re every line, you’re every word, you’re everything. Collection of Clorith oneshots.
1. Wonderful

**Summary: **And in this crazy life, and in these crazy times, it's you, it's you, you make me sing. You're every line, you're every word, you're everything. [Collection of Clorith-centered one-shots

** ::****Everything****:: **

_By C.K._

_001. Wonderful_

**She** smiles, and the sun suddenly is as dim as an overused light bulb. Pearly white teeth peek across an expanse of coral-pink lips, while eyes of forest green sparkle beneath dark, thick lashes, which ghost occasionally against the pale arc of her high cheekbones, freckled and imperfect.

"…Thanks," he says stupidly, because he's only thirteen and doesn't know what to say to her, because she's six months older and six months wiser than he, because she's just so damn _wonderful_ and he's clearly not.

"Well, it is your birthday, silly!" she laughs; heaven bells ring and nightingale sing, their sounds echoing across the entire universe and everything in between before smacking dead-set into his abdomen, causing an uncomfortable sensation between elated and embarrassed.

"…But I actually like this present," he holds up the bag of star-shaped gingerbread cookies, tied by a pretty pink ribbon, and this time it's her turn to blush, and he's so shocked, because she shouldn't have to blush about anything but _god_ it's so damn pretty.

"Really? They're sort of out of season, but I thought you were more a gingerbread than a chocolate-chip person, or a sugar person at all. Those are Yuffie's favorite. I made them for her birthday once; what a disaster! She was so hyped up that…"

And he doesn't know why she's rambling. He doesn't know that she herself is feeling something akin to an uncomfortable sensation between elated and embarrassed.

Because she's only thirteen and doesn't know what to say to him, because she's six months older and six months wiser than he, but he's just so damn _wonderful_ and she's clearly not.


	2. Paradise

**Summary: **And in this crazy life, and in these crazy times, it's you, it's you, you make me sing. You're every line, you're every word, you're everything. [Collection of Clorith-centered one-shots

AN:

Thanks so much you guys for your reviews! I truly appreciate it; they make my day. D

**Everything**

_002. Paradise_

"I know what happens when we die."

The statement catches him off-guard, almost as much as her 'as-a-matter-of-fact' tone, and he turns with an extra lick to his ice cream. She is staring into the horizon of beautiful, just, everything. She's not wearing pink, for once; blue and white, but still with that pink accent of a ribbon tying her hair together.

He never responds, so she isn't offended; she continues talking.

"I dreamt last night that I was praying at an alter, and a sword came down from the sky, and struck me in the heart," she spoke in a low volume, and he couldn't help but think that he'd like to listen to her speak for hours, soothing him in and out of sleep.

"And then, I dreamt in green; everything, from the sea to the sky, all new and green! It's my favorite color," she informed him, and he was surprised, as assumptions would lead to the fact her favorite color might be pink, but that's Aerith, he supposed, and kept note of this information.

"I found myself in a tinted green land, full of flowers, and I knew that it was the promised land."

She was content just to have him there to speak to, even if he wasn't listening. But he was, and he took a long moment before he spoke his reply.

"I don't believe in an afterlife."

"Oh," she didn't seem disheartened, and turned to him with an almost serious face, despite the serene sincerity in her eyes; it was too much, too, too much, he simply couldn't stand to be looked at with such understanding and care…

"Well, if there _is_ a promised land that we go to," she started, and stretched her arms out in front of her, linking her fingers together and smiling. Boot-clad feet swung haphazardly to a rhythm she could only hear, and he starts when he realizes that she's only an inch away, so close, and it's the closest they've ever been and he doesn't know what else to do but stare, stare at her face, her lips, the curve of her cheeks, her thin neck, her delicate brown curls, hypnotizing him effortlessly as her words snag around his heart and tug mercilessly.

"If such a place exists…I won't think it paradise unless you're there."


	3. Savior

**Summary: **And in this crazy life, and in these crazy times, it's you, it's you, you make me sing. You're every line, you're every word, you're everything. [Collection of Clorith-centered one-shots

AN: Thanks again, cookies!

**Everything**

_003. Savior_

Acolyte, they call her.

Surely she isn't the only one on the planet with healing powers. She's not the only one, but she's got this way about her that just makes you crave her healing touch And, god, she's just so damn tiny, with bony arms and elbows because she never eats, she's too busy helping everybody else, healing their broken hearts in the name of a nameless calling that only she understands and knows about.

But no one sees the acolyte collapse after a long day; no one sees her pain as she exhausts the last of her energy to disinfect a paper-cut, a bruised elbow, a dying woman's bad knees. No one sees past the faux-smile and mock energy. They just see Aerith Gainsborough, little girl, prodigy acolyte with a gentle smile.

He sees.

He sees her falter when her belly grumbles, telling her that despite her best intentions, she can't do everything all on her own, all by herself. She's only a little girl, after all, barely fourteen, and smiling brighter than sunshine is a great responsibility.

So when the last person leaves the church at night, scurrying off into the darkness, and she allows herself to fall to her knees in panting, heaving breaths, her belly roaring because she gave all of her food to the little hungry kitten outside and her body shaking from strain of playing a miracle-worker for a hundred thankless souls, he steps inside with a bag of apples, a warm blanket, and an understanding ear.

Sure, he can't heal the masses, or smile pure sunshine, and he never gives his food to the strays, but the look she gives him when he arrives every day without fail makes him feel like he could be a savior, too.


	4. Promise

**Summary: **And in this crazy life, and in these crazy times, it's you, it's you, you make me sing. You're every line, you're every word, you're everything. [Collection of Clorith-centered one-shots

AN:

Hoo-ray for 10 reviews! Good work, ladies and gentlemen! You've my unyielding gratitude and love. This one's sort of strange, and a bit different. Not to mention longer.

**Everything**

_004. Promise_

When the battles start to get more and more bloody, and his squad is sent off more and more and more, Tifa's smiles become fewer in number and strained when they come. She doesn't like the idea of war, of sending her childhood companion on missions from which he may never return.

"I can't lose you, Cloud," she whispers and tries to inch closer beside him as they sit at the water tower, feet dangling. "I don't ever want to worry that you're not coming home…"

He comes home, though, time after time, but Tifa's worries only increase more and more, to the point where she speaks of nothing else, and whenever he is with her, he becomes more and more convinced that he will not return home one day. And he can't take it; the pressure's too much, the worries cloud over his mind, and his heart turns to blackness at the prospect that he will not come back someday.

That's why he stops going to Tifa's water tower, and spends more time with Aerith instead.

"Welcome back, Cloud," she chirps and stands, wiping the dirt on her fingers onto her dress and offering him the most beautiful smile she can. "I'll put on some tea, okay?"

She offers him some tea and whatever food she can muster, which is always, always, always delicious, and what little time they are able to spend together isn't spent on worries and the future; it's just Cloud and Aerith, talking of kings and peasants, of beauty and not, of light and darkness, everything and nothing.

"…What would you do if one day I didn't come back?" he asks one day, feeling rather out of character and unusually comfortable. She is not used to such deep thoughts in their light-hearted chatter, so she pauses and picks some dust off of her dress as she chooses her next words. This is something he likes about her; she doesn't just say her thoughts, she tries to word them carefully, because each could be her last. Besides, it keeps him in suspense.

"Well," she starts, her voice light and innocent. "I suppose going out to find you would be a bit distressing, because then you might come back and I'd still be out looking for you, which would turn into a vicious cycle of us never finding each other. So…the most logical answer is I would wait here for you."

"What if I don't come back?" he asks, and for the first time, she can feel the fear in his voice. She smiles her angel smile, and takes his hand in hers.

"I will wait," she whispers. "No matter how long it takes, I'll wait."

"You could change your mind," his voice is quiet and panicked, and he looks down at her lap. "You might find someone else to take my place, to…make tea and cookies for you," she giggles, and squeezes his hand. She leans over until her forehead presses against his shoulder, and she's so close he can feel her warm breath on him, and _gods_ her hair and her skin smells like sunflowers drenched in rain…

"Always, I will wait. Even if you find yourself a princess, you could always bring her back here! I'd love to meet her, and make sure she's well-mannered and even-tempered. And that she knows how to cook--"

"You promise?" he asks, and her heart aches and just _melts_ at the naïveté in his voice.

"Of course."

"Then I promise that I'll come back," he nods, and switches their fingers so he's holding her hand. For a while, neither moves, instead just reveling in their promises, until the tea kettle rings and Aerith starts up, dutifully and a bit brighter than usual.

"Lemon and honey?"


	5. Twisted

**AN:**

I never expected you guys to like my mini-stories!

**Everything**

_005. Twisted_

This time, when he's home again, it's been two and a half weeks and his hand is bleeding profusely, finger sliced from bottom to top and palm split in two by the thick, red gash. He ponders going to the sweet, bi-colored-eyed medic, but there are worse injuries in his companions and he doesn't want to waste her time. Then, there's always Tifa, but she would fuss and complain about him being careful, and he's not in the mood to be lectured.

He bandages it himself and heads out to see the person whose sweet face has been burning in his mind all this time, and he's so shocked when she's not there.

Something has happened, something must have happened, because she's always here and she promised, she promised, she fucking _promised_ she'd always be there waiting for him, but she wasn't, and he didn't think he'd be so crushed.

But the door to the church opens, and he hears laughter and giggling, and he scowls.

Zack accompanies his flower girl, his smile bright and his sapphire blue eyes glistening with predatory hunger. A surge comes over Cloud like a wave, this burning desire to rip her away from his side and keep her away.

"…Welcome back, Cloud. I hope you haven't been here long, but--"

"--But I found her, and insisted she help me. My knee's been all out of sorts, and I heard she's the best healer in the whole area!"

Cloud watches as she holds his bare knee in her hands, too small and delicate against his flesh, and the green surrounds the injured, bleeding area. She bandages the nearly clean area anyway, apologizing, but she's had a long day, and he laughs so loud he doesn't hear her belly grumble.

She sends him on her way and turns to Cloud, beaming.

"Thanks for being patient."

"Whatever," he mumbles, and sits down as she goes to boil water. When she returns, she sees his hand, and raises an eyebrow.

"Don't worry about it," he mutters. "You're weak, you could barely even help Zack."

She hesitates, and finally walks over to him, and picks up his hand as if it's a delicate lily rather than the calloused appendage of a soldier. But instead of healing it, she raises the finger to her mouth and carefully, hesitantly kisses the very tip.

Her lips are softer than rose petals, and warm, and his heart flutters, but he doesn't expect her eyes to suddenly click towards him, blazing forest fire, and take the finger into her mouth.

He can't breathe, he can't speak, because her tongue is soft and so warm, and it's pushing against his open wound, and his mind is blank, _blank,_ a canvas before paint, a paper before writing, bleached, white, nothingness, beautiful simple nothingness.

And just like that she takes it out again, little pink tongue sliding down from his finger, along the cut, down to his wrist, where the cut ends. When she looks up his blood is smeared slightly against her lips, which quirk up in a coy, playful smirk.

He's rendered speechless by her unexpected actions, and he can't help but think that she's twisted, sinfully so, behind her innocent little smile there's something deeper and not darker, because that's very unlike her, but something nearly promiscuous and she's just precious, like a gem…no, not a gem. She's precious like a _heart, _like a life, like a feeling that you can treasure

But he doesn't expect that when he sees his hand again, it's healed, only the tiny pink bump of a scar remaining.


End file.
